2026-09-28
Quince in a salt year
The quince tree has had the strangest year of anything in the orchard. Two storms in May filled the air with salt for days, and I was sure the flowers were finished. They were not. The fruit set lightly, which turned out to be a mercy: fewer quinces, but each one the size of a fist and smelling of honey and pears when you bring it into the kitchen.
I picked the first eleven today. They will sit on the windowsill for a week to colour up, then most of them become membrillo. A few go into the bowl in the hall simply because the smell is better than any candle.
Note for next year: the lower branches on the seaward side scorched again. The hedge is tall enough now, but there is a gap by the gate where the wind funnels through. Another blackthorn goes in there in November.